


Melting Wings

by babybrackish



Category: Original Work
Genre: Poetry, just a collection of my own poetry, mostly venting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:54:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23101276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babybrackish/pseuds/babybrackish
Summary: a collection of my original poetry.
Kudos: 1





	1. how it is

**Author's Note:**

> how it is: written 4/25/19. intended as spoken word poetry

This is your life.

With starlight stretching out behind you

And empty worlds hidden in the lining

Of the skin on your face.

This is your life.

With time threading between your fingers.

Stretching, stretching,

Stretching like a pasty elastic,

Like bubblegum stretching over the canvas.

And you’re blue.

You’re blue, blue.

And your heart is big, but it is grey,

And your soul is wounded,

Like that child.

That child.

Cowering beneath your skin.

That child with its hands raised,

Waiting, waiting.

That wounded, hurting child.

Waiting, waiting.

Waiting for someone, anyone,

Waiting for anyone to press on the wound,

Waiting for anyone to save them,

Drag them from the hurt,

Save them, secure them.

This is your life. 

Peering through the gaps between your fingers.

Watching them devolve into tears.

While you wait.

Waiting, waiting,

Waiting for them to see you,

To hear you, 

To grab you and hold you and keep you safe,

To reach for you and give you a reason to trust them.

You watch and you wait,

And you wait,

And you wait.

This is your life.

Looking down at a million little people,

Watching them staring,

Staring, staring,

Staring and doing nothing,

Doing nothing to help you,

Turning away, but staring,

Staring, staring.

And this is how it happens;

With your hands in your hair

And them trying to grab you,

But their arms are not long enough,

And they cannot reach you.

And you are gone.

You are gone, gone, 

And you are never coming back,

And no one can ever bring you back,

Because you are gone,

And you are gone,

And they can’t do anything.

This is your life.

You are dead, and you are gone,

And your heart is beating,

But what is it beating for?

For hope, for love, for a future?

But how does that work?

If your heart is beating and your body is moving and your brain is active,

But you are dead,

Dead, dead,

So very dead, a living zombie,

Then why does your heart beat?

And if they reach for you and they reach for you

And the sunset splashes its colors against your poor, drying skin

But they cannot touch you and you are colorless

And you cannot feel them trying,

Then why?

This is your life.

A day on repeat,

A disc scratching in the record player,

What should be normal but is broken and skipping,

And you can do nothing but fix it and fix it and fix it,

But it just keeps breaking and breaking and breaking

And it is warped and unfair and the music has been reduced to noise.

But you sit and listen anyway,

For meager hope, for distant love, for a blurry future.

You sit and you listen and the colors slip through your fingers.

And you are breathing but dead,

And this is your life.


	2. a being Other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a being Other. freeverse poem written sometime in 2018-19

I am a being Other

Perhaps a walking corpse

Or the pale imitation of a living thing

I will always push away

For I am not the Same

So why bother?

I cannot feel the sun

For I went cold and dead long ago

I will never feel alive again

You do not know this; you do not know me

You will never know me

For I am Other

So why do you try?

I am a being entrenched within this sad apathy

Do not try to reassure me

You cannot ease this numbness blistering within me

Your warmth will never reach me

I will never feel the sun

You cannot save me from this rot

For I am not the Same

I never will be

I know how much you love me

But how am I to feel it?

You can’t reach me

This cold has been killing me for years

Leave me to die

It is the only kindness I can thank you for


	3. inner child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> inner child. freeverse poem written sometime in 2018-19

I sit alone in this darkened room

Head filled with thoughts of you, me

No one blinked an eye when you left

Or stopped to think where you had gone

You just weren’t there

I have been the only mourner

The only one who ever thinks of you

There is no place where I can leave flowers for you

No ashes to hold

I can only give you my sadness

We both know this writing

Is just another method of dissociation

And still I mourn

Maybe one day the grief will pass

For now, I am numb

You were never a child

You never got the chance

Not special, or important

But I’m not, either

We are more than kindred

And as I lift my head from where I’ve wept

I see a memory across the room

Staring back at me

Your eyes are my eyes

And your face is my face

And you are me

I close my eyes and try to dismiss you

Because you are dead

And you never mattered anyway


End file.
